


Unbecoming

by mrsalenko



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Circle of Magi, F/M, Lyrium Addiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 22:17:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4804265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsalenko/pseuds/mrsalenko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His heart thrilled in his chest, thundering unreasonably hard, as if frightened. She gasped as his hand touched the small of her back and threatened lower but didn’t pull away. She smelled like incense and musty books, wholly familiar, and yet he was filled with the sudden fear that any second someone would walk in and catch them in such an embrace. It would be shameful. It would be…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unbecoming

Cullen put the final flourish on the bottom of the parchment and then leaned back in his chair to study the long document. His back made an ominous creaking sound in the silence of his office and he sighed. The light outside was long, gold, and gentle. Another long day ending. The parchment was long and his penmanship atrocious but it would have to do. 

Quickly rolling up the parchment, he tied it neatly and then stood, eager to leave his office. He hadn’t seen Myfanwy all day, and that made it a very poor day indeed. Time to fix that. 

 "You there!“ he called to the soldier stationed outside his office. "Take this to Lady Montilyet with all haste." 

 The soldier saluted and made to do as commanded when Cullen paused.

 "Have you seen the Herald?” he asked, not bothering to conceal his eagerness. Blast it, let them talk. He didn’t want to waste all evening trying to find her in the sprawling fortress. 

 "I believe I saw Her Worship in the library, ser,“ answered the guard and hurried away. Cullen was sure he was smirking. He sighed, deciding to pay it no mind, and made his way across the walkway to the rotunda. 

As he passed Solas, the elf gave him an incurious look, bent over some parchment on his desk. Cullen could never work out what to say to him, not sure if the elf would even appreciate idle greetings. Myfanwy said he was harmless and kind, but Cullen knew she was at heart a kind person herself and sometimes too trusting. 

 Solas made the decision for him.

 "Commander." 

 "Solas,” he returned and then was utterly stumped with what to say next. He briefly considered mentioning the artwork on the walls but dismissed it. He knew nothing of art, and even less of elven art. 

Solas broke the awkward silence. “If you are seeking Myfanwy, she is in the library with the children.” There was an implied dismissal in his tone. Cullen wouldn’t argue with it. 

“Thank you." 

He gladly left Solas’ presence and begun the climb up the stairs. Myfanwy said he could be warm but often when Cullen observed him he saw nothing but a cold disconnect and his eyes like shutters over a window. Maybe it was different with her. Maybe out camping under the stars, or in the heat of battle, she saw something in him Cullen could not. She always did see the best in people. Cullen feared he only saw the worst. Maybe that was why he loved her so much. 

He slowed as he reached the top of the stairs, pausing to run his hands through his hair, making sure it was as neat as it could be. He was about to round the corner when he heard a soft giggle, and decided to linger. It was a child’s laugh, and soon he heard Myfanwy’s lilt join in. 

”‘If only, if only,’ the woodpecker sighed 'the bark on the tree was as soft as the skies’.“ 

Cullen peeked around the corner and saw Myfanwy seated on the chair normally occupied by Dorian. She had a long white blouse on, arm warmers that came up to her biceps and brown leggings. Her boots were ankle length and laced poorly, as if she’d just had them off. She radiated a sense of effortless elegance, much like Vivienne did, but earthen and warm. Her hair hung loosely, untied for a change. He liked it like that, reminded forcefully of the times he saw it laid against the bare skin of her back, or covering the swell of her breasts as she lay next to him. He tried to direct his thoughts to purer purpose and was aided by the apparent small following she had acquired.

Gathered at her feet seemed to be the entirety of Skyhold’s child population, positioned on various cushions, blankets, and Dorian’s prized silks. Dorian himself sat on a massive red cushion to her left, two small children sat on each knee. One was asleep. He was smiling as he read the book in Myfanwy’s lap along with her, providing a voice for some of the characters in an exaggerated Tevene accent. 

"As the wolf waits below, hungry and lonely, he cries to the moon 'if only, if only,” she finished. Cullen smiled softly. Of course she was spending her afternoon entertaining the children. Her heart had depths few could match. He softly walked the remaining steps, becoming visible to her. She turned her head and a radiant smile blossomed on her face as she met his eyes. He found himself grinning back like a fool. The children notice her gaze and turned to him. 

“Children! Say good afternoon to Cullen." 

"Good afternoon, Ser Cullen,” they parroted obediently, minus the one still asleep.

“Good afternoon, children, Lord Pavus, Lady Trevelyan,” he replied formally for the sake of the children. He found he couldn’t tear his gaze from her though, the sunset catching in her hair and making the silver-white strands shine most prettily. 

“Come have a seat with us!” Dorian called, waving expansively. “We do tell rather frightful tales of good knights and horrible demons, so be warned. Do not worry though, Myfanwy gives cuddles to those who get too scared." 

The children giggled, evidently finding the idea of Good Ser Cullen becoming frightened at a children’s story and needing a cuddle hilarious. 

Cullen rolled his eyes. "Thank you. Most kind." 

"I do try." 

Myfanwy glanced at the window, studying the light. "Oh goodness me! It’s getting rather late, I hadn’t realized. Off you go, children, it’s almost supper time." 

There was a collective whine from the gathered crowd. 

"Please Miss Myf- I mean, please Lady Trevelyan, please just another story!” whined a particularly dejected five year old. 

“No, no, we’ll continue this one tomorrow,” she promised. “Your mothers will be wondering where you are. Off you go now, Lord Dorian will see you to the courtyard to be picked up." 

 "Oh he will, will he?” Dorian grumbled but began climbing to his feet, waking the littlest one and taking his hand. “Come now children, the Inquisitor has important business to… ahem… attend to, I’m sure." 

He waggled his eyebrows at Cullen. Myfanwy glared and swatted him with the book. The children laughed, evidently living in absolute adoration of her. And Dorian, as it turned out. 

"Goodbye, Ser Cullen,” waved one of the little girls and he waved back as the last stragglers left the room. 

Myfanwy stood, stretching. He watched her, drinking in the details of her face, unable to stop his gaze wandering her body. Maker, but she was beautiful. Unable to help himself, he crossed to her and took her in his arms, kissing her lips gently. 

 "Mmm, hello,“ she hummed more than spoke. "Miss me?" 

 "Only until I ached." 

She smiled, her eyes sparkling. Then she playfully shoved him away and began tidying the cushions. Cullen helped. Andraste herself couldn’t help them if Dorian came back to find his favourite cushion out of place. 

"The children adore you,” he said honestly. “Do you read to them often?" 

"Yes,” she nodded, “when I’m able to. They were very afraid when they first got here, some missing a parent or both, mostly refugees. They were having nightmares… and well, no one else was interested in them. So I decided maybe they would feel better if they saw me, that I wasn’t so scary, and that the structure of reading time would help relax them for the night. Besides, it helps them learn to read too, and education is important." 

Cullen paused, studying her. Memories flickered through his mind, some muted, some sharp, and he realized what she reminded him of. She was only missing the robes and he the weight of the full armor. 

"You were an Enchanter, not just a Harrowed,” he realized. “You taught the child mage classes, didn’t you?" 

She stilled, as if she had revealed something she hadn’t meant to. 

"Yes." 

Cullen had often stood guard over many lessons in the Circle. He’d seen gouts of flame summoned, the room frozen solid, pillars of earth conjured. But he’d also seen rows of small children sat before a woman, reading their ABCs, learning arithmetic, wholly innocent and ignorant as to why a man always stood in the doorway in full armor, a sword on his hip sharp and gleaming, and why their teacher did not meet his eyes. 

He’d been down the hall when female mages had to hold down one of their own in the Kirkwall Circle as she screamed and cried for the baby she’d just given birth to. Meredith had ignored the suggestion that the father was not a fellow mage, leaving only one other possibility. She’d said that it was to be dealt with in the usual way, that he should not grow lenient, soft and gullible, that such ploys and lies were what mages resorted to to get their way. An older Enchanter had hurried by him with the babe swaddled in a blanket, still bloody and crying just as hard, and the look she had shot him had said that were she able, she would kill him with her bare hands. He’d looked away, the screams still echoing down the hall. And done nothing. 

A heavy silence fell. Myfanwy was fiddling with the lace edge of a pillow. 

"I looked after the little ones in Ostwick. That was my job, I suppose. I was talented enough to do anything else, but Lydia said that I was best with the children. It’s stupid. I kind of miss it. The Circle, that is. It was home for a very long time. Maybe I’m trying to recapture just a little bit of it here." 

Cullen said nothing, was unable to. He didn’t miss it. He could still hear a woman screaming. 

"If we had met-” he began but trailed off. Why was he asking. He shouldn’t ask. Leave it buried and dead and done.

She glanced sharply at him. “We didn’t." 

"But if we had- Could… Could you have-" 

She looked away. "Why are you asking? Could  _you_  have?" 

He looked at her soft green eyes, the fall of her hair down her back, the curve of her lips. He didn’t like the answer he came up with. 

"I would have loved you. But not as I do now. It is best we did not." 

She studied his face, dark brows drawn together, and he felt examined, like she could see straight through him. Slowly she came closer, until she had to tilt her head to look at his face. She flitted closer still, and he bent slightly to meet her, her lips hovering just over his. 

"The world is a funny place,” she whispered. He could feel her breath on his neck and he suddenly wanted her almost painfully. 

“I would have kissed you like this,” she said and then did so. 

He blinked in surprise as her lips crashed against his, hard and soft, demanding and pliant. It wasn’t like her usual kiss, but full of temptation and almost anger. Her other arm came up, pulling at the collar of his armor, pulling him down against her. She opened her mouth, and he tasted her wet sweetness, the edge of her tongue. He closed his eyes, surrendering to her, his hand grasping her hair almost roughly. It bunched against her scalp as he tilted her head up to allow him better access. 

Her hair was impractically long, so unlike most of the other women at Skyhold who cropped their hair fashionably or were warriors. Except the mages from the Rebellion, now joined into the Inquisition. They wore their hair long. 

Images flashed across his mind. 

_“Tell me,” the demon whispered, “do you desire her?"_

_It was a woman. And it clearly was not. It was obscene._

His knees suddenly felt weak and a tremor shook him. The song called to him. 

His heart thrilled in his chest, thundering unreasonably hard, as if frightened. She gasped as his hand touched the small of her back and threatened lower but didn’t pull away. She smelled like incense and musty books, wholly familiar and yet he was filled with the sudden fear that any second someone would walk in and catch them in such an embrace.  _It would be shameful. It would be…_

She pulled away, gasping, lips red and angry from the scratch of his stubble. 

"No. I could not have." 

He’d almost forgotten the question but her answer sounded like a lie. She turned away.

"I’ll meet you in your quarters later." 

Her voice had a funny quality to it, too high. Her accent lilted stronger than usual. "Will you bring the wine?”

“Yes,” he said hoarsely, not able to manage anything else. He’d do anything. He was drowning. She’d save him, surely. 

She nodded and left, touching her lips. 

He wanted to ask her to come back, to speak of light, easy things, but he feared he’d made some mistake. No. He was _sure_  of it. 

He crossed to the balcony, trying to calm his breathing, and glanced down.

Solas was looking upwards, his gaze hard and unknowable. There was judgment in the look. Cullen found he couldn’t meet it. His heart was still hammering. 

“I do,” he said to something that was no longer there.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Line Myf reads is from 'Holes' by Louis Sachar. I don't often post here, but I'm trying to break that habit and actually archive what I post on tumblr. Thanks for reading.


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